Scorched Earth
by saketini
Summary: Canonverse, December 1864. Comforting a special friend towards the end of the American Civil War. Rusame, sequel of sorts to "Frantsiya" but these can all be read independently if you would rather.


"So we made a thoroughfare for freedom and her train,

Sixty miles in latitude, three hundred to the main;

Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain

While we were marching through Georgia."

_- "Marching Through Georgia," _Henry Clay Work

* * *

Early December 1864 ~

Coming in from the cold, Russia walked comfortably down the hall of the New York home and peeked his head around the door frame of the bedroom to which he had been directed.

_"Amerika?_"

The shattering of pottery against the bare wooden floor and muffled curses were his returned greeting.

"Russia? What? How?"

"I thought I should visit," he smiled in what he hoped was a comforting manner as America turned his head over his shoulder to look at him, "I was told things were... the word... improving?"

"Um, yes. The Union is on the offensive for now..." Russia could see America's ears pinked with a blush as he attempted to roll down his sleeves and button his shirt at the same time, blue jacket behind him lying across the bed.

"But how are you here, Russia?"

"I was told to see more. We had ships in the area," he waved his hand dismissively, intentionally vague. Several of his ships had been sent to the area a few years prior to protect Russian interests should France and Britain decide to participate in the American Civil War. Most had left by Summer of that year, but given word that the war was turning in the Union's favor, Russia had taken the opportunity to hop a ship back and investigate the opportunity of restoring full trade by the following year. He had also, not so secretly, hoped to see one of his few publicly declared friends.

"I'm glad to see you then," America smiled in a peculiarly subdued manner, still fussing with his shirt, "Sorry for being such a mess. No one told me you were coming. You should sit down," he tilted his head towards the chair by the fireplace before turning back to his buttons, causing his curl to bob.

Russia loosened his scarf and nodded slightly, tugging the door partially closed behind him and glanced balefully at the chair that was offensively far from the bed. He crossed the room and grabbed the jacket lying behind the younger nation, tossing it across the chair back.

"Ah! That's -" America twisted at the waist to watch the jacket's flight only to wince and pause mid-motion.

"Things are improving, _da?"_

Giving up on the buttons, it appeared in his rush to decency he had misaligned them and would have to start again, he elected to cross his arms in front of his chest and clutch the extra fabric around himself protectively. Contrary to France's insinuations, Russia had not actually seen America's scars more "intimately." He enjoyed England's flustered glares too much to correct the man, however, and let the assumption stand. Russia turned and leaned back past America on the bed to angle over the edge and inspect the bowl he had heard fall.

"Burn...?"

"Liniment, burn-liniment," America responded softly, his breath brushing Russia's ear, "it's lime-water and linseed oil. The ladies have been making it for me."

"How were you burned?"

"It's nothing too bad. They'll go away."

"How?"

"Ah..." he trailed off, again abnormal for one who typically filled any silence he could find to force out nervousness, "just the war and things. The rebellion."

"You said the states who had left caused cuts."

"They did...things are improving..."

"You do not heal cuts the same as burns, _da?_"

America went fully silent and tucked down his chin into his chest, clutching the shirt closer. Russia stood and walked back across the room, closing the door fully. Turning, he tossed his own jacket on top of the blue uniformed one and moved in front of the bed after kicking the pottery mess to the side. Russia knelt in front of the younger nation, placing his hands on the boy's knees and looking up at his concealed face.

"You should have your eyeglasses returned to you soon, _da?_"

"_Da_," America mimicked his accent and smiled, meeting the other's eyes, "that is the goal."

"Then why do you burn, _Amerika?_ If things are improving, you should not burn."

"It seems...things must burn a little while before they can be fixed. We're...clearing things out for now. But we'll reconstruct next, welcome them back with open arms and fix the mess. Reunite stronger and closer to our ideals."

"You have a plan?"

"Yes."

"That is unusual for you."

America laughed at that, "_Da._ I suppose it is. It was the plan of General Grant and the Major General though."

"Your boss?"

"Understands."

"Let me see," he ran his hands up higher, gingerly brushing across the blue wool that covered his thighs to rest his fingertips at the younger's elbows.

"Why? It's just well, they're not very pretty and all. Plus they're getting better and going away. We should only have a few more weeks until he reaches the coast and then they'll all be be better after that -"

Russia pinched the fabric to halt the rambling.

"Because we are friends. Friends 'share burdens' as you say. Let me see," he tugged gently to emphasize his point.

"Um, yes. Our bosses do call us that a lot lately, don't they?" America smiled nervously and cocked his head.

"I agree with them. Friends, _da?_"

"Um..._da_," he blushed again but loosened his grip on his shirt.

"I will teach you more of my language. We will be able to be more intimate in meetings."

"Intimate?" America appeared to be choking, red as one of his tomatoes.

"...perhaps I used that word incorrectly? Converse more comfortably in public?"

"...we could do that. I would like that."

Russia enjoyed the smile that returned to the boy's face, softness born of war weariness and a puritan shyness. He released the fabric he held in order to remove the fingers that still clutched and leaned up to press a fond kiss to the brow that remained slightly furrowed.

"You are still too young to have wrinkles, I look forward to the day you are healthy and whole again."

"Ah, I do too," America forced out, still visibly flustered. Russia hummed happily as he watched the blush bleed its way down his neck, past the fluttering of his pulse. _Hmm~_

"_Я начну там."_

"What?"

Choosing to demonstrate rather than explain, he reached up and began to loosen the misaligned buttons at the other's collar, brushing his thumbs leisurely against his throat as he did so.

"How much?"

"Burned? It's mostly along my left side, it hits my chest and arm during the worst of it."

Another hum as he continued removing buttons and brushing skin. The pinkness along his chest and stomach that peeked out beyond the edges of the bandages was strangely splotchy, not a result of the now fading blush, but looking more akin to a sunburn. He pressed his fingers curiously to the skin along his collarbone, watching it blanch with pressure and goose bump under his still winter-chilled fingers. It felt warm to the touch.

"It's better now that I'm further north. When I was still at my DC home it was worse... too close to the fighting, I suppose. That's why they shipped me up here. It's worse during the day when they are burning, I change the bandages at night," he shifted his left shoulder back as he again rambled, allowing Russia to push the shirt off of his arm.

The bandages continued here, wrapped firmly in a spiral from shoulder to wrist, loose only enough for the elbow to bend slightly. The cotton itself was warm here and in spots felt strangely damp. Curious but patient, Russia chose to return his attention to his torso and twisted slightly to grab the shears that had been placed on the nightstand.

"Ah-"

"I would like to help my friend change his bandages."

"Okay," America responded, eyes focused on the sheers.

He pulled the bandages slightly away from America's stomach with his fingers and began to cut upwards. Glancing up at the boy's face occasionally to search for any signs of discomfort, he brushed the backs of his fingers against the newly visible skin to preserve the gentleness he sought. Fully exposed, the burn bloomed in an angry imitation of a flower from slightly above America's left hip. Grabbing at the dampened towel that had been placed there for that purpose, he smoothed slow circles upwards and out towards the edges of the burn.

"Hurt?"

"The pink bits at the edges sometimes do. I think the rest is too damaged to feel anything even with the blistering having gone down," America fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve that still rested around his opposite arm.

Russia stared curiously at the pearly white center that bled into a mottled red. Touching gently to avoid pain even though he had been told there would be none, he watched as it paled further under pressure and regained color with surprising slowness once released. Swirling the towel further outwards, brushing over skin that had turned a bright pink and looked oddly moist before reaching the fake sunburn where he had began. At that, America's face pinched in obvious discomfort and he leaned forward to press another kiss above his navel, earning an embarrassed giggle.

"I have more burn liniment in that bottle there. They made a whole batch of the stuff," sweetly blushing and rambling again, "Have you done this before? You rub the liniment all over it and then you wrap it in the cotton wool. You're supposed to put oil on the itchy bits. The ladies tell me to keep the bandages wet but that makes my uniform all slimy on the inside so I don't do that. They get better anyway because -"

"_Da,_ I have done this before, _Amerika_," he kissed the back of the boy's fidgeting other hand.

"You like a lot of kisses."

"It is a greeting."

"On my stomach?"

"We are friends," this earned him another laugh.

Russia returned his attention to the shears and rocked back on his heels to extend America's arm towards him, rubbing the knuckles of the hand he held with his thumb. More gingerly than before as this skin seemed more sensitive, he slowly cut away the bandages from the wrist up to the shoulder, kissing the least damaged bits as he went. Here the worst centered around the inside of his elbow where the skin had tanned to a burned brown. By the blessings of his immortality, new pink skin could be seen peeking its way underneath but Russia expected those parts too would be burned the following day. Veins and capillaries clawed out from the center, transitioning from red to a bruised blue underneath the damaged white.

"Those bits don't seem to get much benefit from the liniment," America's voice sounded softer as he had turned his head to the side to look away, biting gently at his lower lip, "It sounds foul but I just pick off the really burnt bits and cover up the pink bits so my uniform sleeves don't chafe them. My body seems to put the most effort into healing it because it's the worst but since it just reblisters and burns the next day it's a little pointless. It's so damaged I can't really feel most of it but I know it looks terrible."

_"нет. Ты красивая"_

"I know that "_nyet"_ bit you said first but what was the rest?"

America had turned his head back to look down at him in curiosity. Russia leaned up and, keeping the damaged arm held protectively in his right hand, he cupped the other's cheek in his left to brush a thumb across his soft mouth.

"I will show you fully when you are better, _da?_"

"As friends?" a cheeky grin had begun to peek out from under Russia's thumb.

"I do not know your word. Maybe special friends?"

America leaned forward to nearly close the distance between them and Russia used the opportunity to slide his hand around to the back of his blush-warmed neck.

"_Da_," America breathed onto Russia's own slightly cold lips, "I would like that very much."

When America finally pressed his mouth against Russia's, his lips were comfortably warm and slid gently against his own. He could feel the younger's lingering smile and hummed gently once more in approval. Keeping it closed-mouthed and gentle to cling to the sweetness in the enclosed bedroom, he threaded their fingers together and promised silently to himself to be there in the morning when the fires were lit anew.

* * *

_I just dug these out of old Russian phrase books so correct me if I'm wrong but ~_

_Я начну там: I'll start there._

_Ты красивая: You're lovely/beautiful._

_The Savannah Campaign, commonly known as Sherman's March to the Sea, lasted from November 15 to December 21 of 1864. Major General Sherman led Union troops from Atlanta to Savannah, a total of over 300 miles, in a mission to burn and destroy everything they could touch in Confederate territory. It was incredibly controversial and absolutely devastating to Georgia and the Confederacy. It's worth noting that unlike our more modern definitions of total warfare, while the Union _did _aim for civilian structures they _did not_ seek civilian casualties. That level of awful was reserved for the World Wars. _

_It's an odd time frame to choose to do it in, but I wanted to have these two be sweet and America be blushy. I find them both very lonely and similar, I feel they earned some comfort kisses. _

_Special thanks to some awesome friends who are nursing students who also contributed. Also thanks to the lady who was creeping on me at Starbucks while I was researching burn treatments. How about some mottled flesh with your mocha?_


End file.
